


Double Agents

by FreshBrains



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Community: rounds_of_kink, F/M, Guilt, Hand Jobs, Lust, Older Woman/Younger Man, Outdoor Sex, POV Paul, Season/Series 02, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 22:05:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4075465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul had become adept at fucking women he didn’t love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Agents

**Author's Note:**

> For the Rounds of Kink prompt: _Paul/Siobhan; Age difference, power imbalance; They're both using each other._
> 
> Some blink-and-you-miss-it mommy kink, past Beth/Paul and Paul/Sarah, bisexuality, and dom/sub, because I'm multi-shipper trash for this fandom and Maria Doyle Kennedy is my goddess. Takes place sometime before the season 2 finale.

Paul had become adept at fucking women he didn’t love. He wasn’t proud of it, but it was all part of the job, and he knew it from the start.

Beth—his longest con—was never easy. The other Leda clones were disgusted by it, but nobody knew more than him how hard it was to see that pain behind Beth’s eyes day in and day out and do absolutely nothing about it. He tried, in the beginning—he ran the marathons with her, kept track of her meds, did everything the adoring, attentive boyfriend was supposed to do.

But Beth wasn’t stupid. She didn’t _know_ , exactly, but she knew something was missing in him, something she couldn’t fix.

And he still fucked her.

He had to call it that because anything else was a lie. There was no making love; it was barely even _sex_ , their cold little act in their cold little bed, Beth choking back tears when she thought he was asleep. They always used a condom, even though Beth couldn’t conceive. Neither of them questioned it.

There were others, before and after her death. His superiors claimed he needed to learn how to do it and do it well, master the art of fucking without feeling. _We can spot a bleeding heart from a mile away_ , they’d snicker behind their palms, as if Paul wasn’t a seasoned combat veteran who practically committed fucking treason for a good paycheck. But he knew, deep down, that they were right. There were women, mostly young, a few as jaded as him. There were even a few men. It was easy with them, especially because his heart wasn’t really in it. His dick, maybe, but not his heart. He could break them without blinking.

But then there was Sarah Manning, and with her, a woman with a shotgun and a thermos of tea named Mrs. S.

He knew he’d grow to love Sarah from the first time she mounted him like a wildcat on the kitchen counter, hips twisting and thrusting and making him go insane, from the first offended noise that came out of her mouth whenever he said something he could get away with around Beth but not around her. He’d grow to love her, so he stopped fucking her, because the fucking was turning into something else.

He started treating her like the goddamn asset she was supposed to be, and to do that, he pressed a gun to her brother’s head and became a bad man.

He still had a job to do. And that mysterious Mrs. S was going to help him do it.

She asked him to call her Siobhan, but he liked the way Mrs. S sounded in the front of his mouth. Just saying it, low in his throat, got his dick hard in his suit pants, got his pulse racing like a teenage boy’s. No woman had ever hit him so instantly like Mrs. S, ever got his blood simmering like flicking on a switch.

Mrs. S played him like a well-crafted machine. She fed him tea, made sure he was warm when he was on patrol. She didn’t keep him a secret from Sarah, their meetings, but she maintained he would only be useful for them, keeping Sarah complacent if still steely and skeptical.

_Useful_. He liked that, coming from her. He wanted to be useful for her. He knew nothing about her besides placing her accent somewhere in Dublin and the fact that she was the closest thing Sarah ever had to a mother, which made his attraction to her all the more sticky and foul. He could love Sarah, he knew he could, but he couldn’t love Mrs. S. He couldn’t love a woman who could press a shotgun to his temple, pull the trigger, and walk away with clean hands and clean conscience.

“You’re all the same, you boys,” Mrs. S says, a laugh low in her voice as she allows Paul to press her up against the side of his glossy black car. “Thinking with your cocks.” Her voice was buttery and smoky, something rich that he’d never tasted before, something dangerous. She unwound the wool scarf from her neck and tossed it carelessly into the damp pavement.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Paul said, burying his face in the sweet scent of her neck. She wore a wool dress and leggings, leather boots, body bundled for warmth but even warmer beneath the layers. “I’m not thinking at all.”

Mrs. S clucked her tongue, running her hands down his back, feeling the heat of his muscles, squeezing his ass. “Probably best.” They were in front of her house, Sarah could come back any minute, Felix or Kira could see them, it was _stupid_ , Paul knew Mrs. S had ulterior motives he was refusing to see, but he didn’t care. He slid his hands up her dress, fingers pressing into her thighs, and tugged the waistband of her leggings down far enough to press his hips between her legs.

“Can I…?” He asked, face flushing, not even sure what he was asking her. He didn’t want to look her in the eye, see the fire there, see the way she bore a hole right through him and knew everything she needed to know about this reckless man coming into her life and wreaking havoc on her children and granddaughter.

Mrs. S took his face between her gloved hands and tilted his head back a bit, like she was inspecting him, before leaning in and kissing him hot and slow. One hand was pressed to the back of his neck, one to the front of his pants, the perfect amount of pressure that made him instantly lightheaded. He wanted to fuck her right there, sink his face between her breasts, hammer into her to hear the groans and hushed swearing he knew she’d make. But as she pulled away from the kiss, she whispered, feather-light against the tender skin below his ear, “Paul, darling, you need to do something for me.”

Paul closed his eyes and unbuckled his belt with one hand. “Tell me.”

“Betray her,” Mrs. S hissed, hand wandering down into his pants and underwear, fingers circling warm and sturdy around his cock. She was still wearing her leather gloves. “Betray Sarah so I don’t have to.”

Paul was dizzy, dizzy with lust and something like low-burning anger, disappointment, and a tiny flutter of excitement. “I love her,” he said pitifully into Mrs. S’s hair, thrusting into the warmth of her hand. The hem of her dress was bunched in his fist.

“I know,” Mrs. S said, voice gentle but firm. “That’s why you need to listen to me, Paul. Can you be a good boy and listen to me?”

Paul nodded, barely taking in her words as she wrapped one leg around his waist and guided him inside of her, her body hot and slick and perfect, wringing a desperate groan out of him.

“Good boy,” she said again.

Paul didn’t believe her.


End file.
